Page 4 of Cozen

For a second, she was caught by how handsome Ace could be when he was trying to be charming. Usually, he tried most of the time. Had it been years ago and he graced her with that kind of smile, Cozen might have felt a twist in her stomach—unsure of how to react to a handsome man grinning at her.

But she was no longer a young, simple girl—twenty-five years on earth had brought with it a sense of understanding, and difficult life lessons for Cozen. Smiles from this man did little for her. Smiles from anyone did little for her.

“Well?” Cozen asked. “Your nickname?”

“Nope,” Ace said.

That was that.

“It was supposed to be the last time, though,” Cozen said quietly as she peered back over the water. Outside the café overlooking part of South Beach, she should have been enjoying the cold margarita in her hand, and letting the stress fall from her shoulders. Instead, she was going over all the reasons she had decided to come here when Ace sought her out for another job. “At least,” she added, shooting Ace a look, “it should have been the last time on this continent for a while.”

Ace grinned like he understood, but quickly sobered as he looked into his glass of whiskey. “This job was by special request.”

“It’s always special when the Astors call someone in to do a job.”

At the mention of the family who had asked for Ace—a broker, of sorts, in their underground world of criminal kings, thieves, and far more—to bring in a thief worth their weight when it came to a heist, the two quieted.

“My last heist was in Boston,” Cozen said. “Two years ago.”

“Mmm. A Van Gogh, right?”

How did—

“You didn’t broker me that job,” she said.

Ace cocked a brow, saying, “No, but I know the person who did. Don’t know specifics about who hired you to retrieve the painting for them, mind you, just that it was successful.”

“You know enough.”

“Maybe there’s a reason I had to pick you for this job, Zen.”

Cozen straightened her back a bit on the reclining lounger. “Excuse me?”

“You’re a very specialized thief being that you … integrate into a mark’s life, and leave quietly. You gain a mark’s trust, and then most times when an item is stolen, they don’t even look at you. Not even after you’re gone.”

“Fair,” she said.

It wasn’t a lie.

“The Astors needed a specific thief—one that could do this kind of job without the fanfare of making a scene, and causing trouble in the underground world, if you get what I mean.”

Cozen lifted a single brow because this was the first she heard of this. “And how does that Van Gogh job come in to play?”

Ace sucked air through his teeth, and glanced away. “I got video of the party that night from a friend of a friend when I went asking about the job—you know who hired you, so put it together.”

Anger flitted through Cozen.

She somehow hid it well.

“You know that’s dangerous for someone like me,” she said quietly. “To go around asking about a thief like that, especially one like me.”

“As I said,” Ace murmured, “this is a special job. They need a certain kind of thief that will integrate into the mark’s life, and extract what they want without cause for concern or issue. They don’t want a scene. They know it might take some time, and so, they sent me looking for the right thief. I knew it was you.”

“Don’t ever go asking about me to other brokers again,” she warned.

Ace nodded. “Yeah, I got it. I am curious, though.”

“About what?”